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THEN DO THAT OVER: SHE TALKS TO RAINBOWS Part 6 by BKWillis **** 'You know that life really Takes its toll And a poet's gut reaction Is to search his very soul. So much damn confusion Before my eyes But nothing seems to faze me And this one still survives.' --The Ramones **** It sounded like the setup to a really bad joke: 'What do you get if you cross a succubus with a berserking demon?' One obvious punchline that lent itself to Nyssaias's imagination was the old classic, 'Nothing. There are some things even a succubus won't do.' Ha ha. Not only stale, but illogical in the sense that it was a known fact that succubi would have 'relations' with quite literally anybody, changing their form or even sex to suit the particular object of their attentions. It was what they did, their raison d'etre, after all. What point in being a demon of lust and desire if not to indulge in those very sins at every opportunity? Nyssaias knew about succubi, as did virtually everyone who had any involvement with the Divinities. Shameless creatures they were, revelling in the scandals they invariably spawned. 'Cherche la succubus' was the rule of thumb when tracking some disgraceful event among the Divine. So, to word a joke in that way could be a singularly scathing comment on berserking demons, that even a succubus wouldn't bed one. With a shake of her head, Nyssaias cleared away that pointless line of thought. This was no time for dumb jokes, and besides, the question was academic. The answer was, you got Embericles, whatever Embericles actually was. That was the result of crossing a succubus and a berserking demon. The succubus part she could see, she supposed. It would certainly explain where Embericles got her looks, minus the succubus horns and fangs, of course. What would she have inherited from her father? Nyssaias knew nothing at all of berserking demons, and the _Encyclopedia Celestica_ had provided little further enlightenment. Berserking demons were responsible for inspiring fits of insane battle rage in mortals, which was obvious enough. They were also very low-ranking demons, without even a guild or a dispatch office of their own. It had said little about their appearance beyond 'of standard demonic form', which was pretty vague, the moreso since Nyssaias had actually met very few demons in her short life. So, okay. Embericles's mother had the power to evoke lust and desire in others and her father inspired blind rage. But it was _fear_ that Embericles seemed to create in people... Or was that all? Nyssaias thought back to the conversations she'd had with others about the girl. There was more than fear in there. There was a sort of loathing, too. And... hate, possibly? Nyssaias wasn't all that familiar with those emotions except abstractly, but that seemed to fit, as well. Negative emotions, then. _Unhappy_ emotions. She was some sort of demon that inspired all-around 'bad' feelings in people. But that would mean that Embericles was a Divinity. And if she was a Divinity, she'd have been registered on the Census Rolls. All the Divine were, from the Allfather down to the lowliest demi- gremlin. She wasn't on the Rolls, therefore she wasn't Divine. But her parents were Divine. And a child of the Divine was Divine, period. The information was making no sense, therefore either the data was false or other data was lacking. And the only way to remedy either situation was to do a little leg-work -- or wing-work, weather permitting. ---- Baker Avenue wasn't the worst part of town, but that didn't seem to be for lack of trying. The buildings were for the most part middling- old, that awkward age at which the structure is neither new enough nor 'classic' enough to warrant major renovation and so is allowed to start the long, slow process of succumbing to time and weather and ill-will. Washed-out grays and browns were the dominant colors, both of buildings and people. There were more people walking the street than Nyssaias would have expected to find so early on a Sunday, but there was little of the normal crowd-hum in evidence. Only a few seemed to be going about with any set purpose in mind: a few shoppers heading to or from grocery stores, bags clutched protectively to their bodies; a man reading the morning's _Voice of the Workers_, a suspicious bulge under his shirt and hard eyes flicking up from the newsprint every few seconds; a gaggle of dirty children scuffling and cat- calling on their way to some backyard ball-game. The rest idled around corner kiosks and against grimy storefronts, seldom speaking save for low-voiced mutters to some crony, sending hard looks her way as she walked by. She tried smiling and waving at first, but stopped after receiving mostly scowls in reply. Almost everyone she saw was human, she noted, or at least humanoid. A hideously-scarred Terileptil beggar and the carcass of a Dalek travel machine, stripped and set on cinderblocks, were the only signs that she wasn't down in some Earth-Reality slum. She found #13 not far from where the street dead-ended next to the rail yards. It had been a handsome building at one time, but that time had passed long ago. The tenement's brickwork had gone the color of industrial smog and the quaint Victorian touches and flourishes in its trimmings were for the most part rotted away. The tiny yard was weed-choked and overdue for cutting. A rusty sign just off the sidewalk bore the name 'Wild Rose Arms', a name which seemed terribly ironic at first, until Nyssaias caught sight of the trellis beside the front door. The splintered lattice sagged under the weight of an intertwined mass of climbing rose vines, with white, red, pink, and yellow blossoms all tumbled over and around one another in a beautifully chaotic mass, the only truly bright and vibrant colors on the whole block. There was a man sitting in the doorway, she saw as she mounted the steps into the yard. He might have been seventy, or possibly just a hard-life fifty-five, with seamed jowls and tiny dark eyes sunk deeply into his face. A few strands of oily gray hair were combed across his head in a wasted effort at covering his bare, spotted scalp. He sat kicked-back in a cheap plastic patio chair, whittling on a chunk of stovewood. "Excuse me?" Nyssaias asked as she came up. The man just grunted noncommitally, pointing with his knife at the 'No Vacancies' sign on the door. "Er, no. Actually, I'm here about a tenant of yours. The girl who lives in apartment E?" Somewhat to her surprise, the man actually seemed pleased to hear that. He immediately set his carving aside and faced her with a lopsided and snaggle-toothed grin. "Oh, aye! Bit early, ye are. Weren't expectin' yez f'r another week." He wiped his hand on his stained shorts, then held it out expectantly, palm-up. "Pardon?" she asked, unsure what to make of this. His face fell just a bit. "Are ye no' here wiv th' rent money, then?" "No sir." Seeing a chance to possibly pick up a bit of information, she went on, "Was someone supposed to be bringing Embericles's rent to you?" "'Twere what I said, weren't it?" The old man hocked and spat toward the rose trellis. "They be th' only ones what comes by for that one, aye. To bring th' rent and mayhap bide a while." He suddenly threw back his head in a braying phlegmy laugh. "But never long! No' wiv _that_ chippie, aye? She's no' th' socializin' sort, she ain't!" "Who is it that comes by?" she prodded, but the old man's laughter abruptly cut out again as he fixed her with a needle-sharp stare. "And why is it ye'd know, lass? If ye've no' th' rent money, what affair of yers be it?" But before she could answer, some of the wariness seemed to drain out of him and he went on, "But then, what affair be it of mine what ye'd know? I've no duties to th' Brat, save providin' th' room, and there's worse ways to pass a dull mornin' than runnin' jaws wiv a young chippie. Ye makes a better look-at than that wad of liveoak, if naught else." He spat again, this time at the wood he'd been whittling on. "Thanks... I suppose..." Nyssaias wasn't entirely sure how to take that, so decided to consider it a compliment of sorts and move on. "So, who is it that brings the money by?" she tried again. "'Tis two I see most common. Names I knowed once, but since forgot. Th' Bimbo and Four-Eyes, I call 'em, though only to meself, ye understand. Th' Bimbo's a little thing, no' much bigger than yerself, and allus decked out to th' nines. She's a set of wings, like th' Brat, and a set of--" He stopped, a leer twisting his sagging features. "Heh. Ye gets th' idea. Now Four-Eyes, he's a long, skinny type, allus done up in a big coat, no' mattering on th' weather. I call him Four-Eyes, on account of these poncy little spectacles he's wearin'. Scholarly type, mayhap, or mayhap just a pansy." He paused to wipe his nose on a fraying rag. "Anyway, 'twere th' wings of yez that made me think ye was here wiv th' rent. Betimes 'tis others that come in place of th' Bimbo, and many be winged. Kin, mayhap, or mayhap just likewise foreign. 'Tis naught to me. So long as th' Brat's rent be paid up, I care no' a whit who's providin'." "Ah, yes, quite." Nyssaias looked past him, into the dingy hallway beyond. "So, do you know if the Brat-- I mean, if Embericles is in right now?" "Don't know, don't care," the landlord said, shrugging. "I'd suspect she's no' here, but yer welcome to look for yerself." He jerked a thumb toward the stairs at the end of the hall. "'Partment E's upstairs, back left corner." The inside of the tenement proved to be every bit as dingy and ill-kept as the outside, and the upstairs was no improvement. The tinny noise of a TV turned up too loud carried through the thin walls of apartment G, filling the whole upper hall with the racket of some chat show or other. Something tugged at Nyssaias's shoe and she looked down to see that she'd stepped in a wad of gum that had been ground into the tattered rug. Embericles's door was no different from the others, which was vaguely disappointing in its way, although Nyssaias wasn't sure why. What had she expected, after all? A skull-and-crossbones doorknocker? Iron chains and flame-spouting gargoyles? A 'Keep Out' sign with little frowny-faces on it? Feeling just a hint of tightness in her chest, she raised her knuckles to the door... ...and stopped. Was this even the right thing to do, snooping around for info on a person and then tracking them down and pestering them at home? Quite a start to a friendship that'd be. Then again, things were already off to a rocky start. The only way to make anything change was to sieze the initiative, and that meant charging ahead. But on the other hand, she couldn't _force_ someone to be her friend. That was self-contradictory on the face of it. But back on the first hand, she had needs, herself. The need for answers. Denying that need wouldn't make it go away; it would only get worse. ...but that smacked of _using_ another person... ...but it was to _help_ Embericles, not hurt her... ...but if a grown person wanted help, they'd ask for it... ...but people didn't always know they needed helping... But one thing _was_ for certain, and that as that standing in front of someone's door with your fist out while you argued with yourself was bound to look pretty silly. Nyssaias blew her bangs away from her eyes. If she was going to be indecisive now, this was probably not the place to do it. Better to go someplace a bit more congenial, a bit less socially awkward, and quite a bit safer if she had thinking to do. She spun on her heel to leave. And found herself staring straight at Embericles. The bat-winged girl stood silently, regarding her with those pitiless blue eyes. She was in jeans and an old 'Boogiepop Phantom' shirt with the sleeves cut off, the casual ordinariness of the attire somewhat jarring to Nyssaias in the same way as her apartment door had been. Her arms were full of bagged groceries from the store down the block. For what seemed a long moment, neither girl said anything, only the chatter of the too-loud telly filling the awkward silence. Nyssaias felt her cheeks flush red, while Embericles's expression remained rigid and unreadable as stone. The girl's silence seemed faintly accusatory to Nyssaias, although that may have just been her own conscience poking at her. "Erm, hi," she managed at last, almost wincing as her words broke the tableau. "I thought I'd... That is to say... I was just, uh..." Embericles started to open her mouth, but Nyssaias just sighed and held up a hand. "Wait. You don't have to say it. I'm in your way, right?" She stepped aside as the redhead nodded. Embericles thrust one of the bags at her as she came up to the door. "Here," she said shortly. "Make yourself useful." "Wha--? Oh, right." She held the sack as Embericles unlocked the door, then followed her inside with it. For the third time, Nyssaias found herself reeling that vague sense of disappointment at the ordinariness she was confronted with. The apartment was an unassuming one-room affair, with a small kitchenette at one end and an old iron-framed bed at the other. It could have been any not-very-well-off teenager's room, really. There were all the usual teen trappings: a cheap portable stereo; a dusty TV/video player combo; a shelf full of paperback novels; some clothes on the floor; and a handful of posters (Maetel in a swimsuit, Red Sonya, and a big one of Captain Harlock). There was also a thick, fake-leather photo album beside the TV on the room's single low table. Embericles took the sack back from her and began sorting groceries into the sparse cabinets, but said nothing. Nyssaias decided to take that as an invitation to stay unless told otherwise. She puttered around the room a bit, eyeing the furnishings, Embericles not giving her another look. Shrugging at that, she picked up the photo album. Strangely, the album turned out to be full of postcards, each one carefully fastened to a clear plastic sheet and covered with protective cling-wrap, like a child's collection of baseball cards. And with a start, she found that she recognized most of the pictures on them. Almost all bore images of different landmarks and points of interest in the City of Dreams and its adjoining lands. There was the Grand Tower of Commerce, and the Bifrost Bridge, and the Hundred Spires of the High Collegium, and -- a sight that stirred more than a hint of homesickness in Nyssaias's breast -- the scintillant dome of the Temple of Remembrance. Curiosity roused, she scanned the backs of several of them, to read the terse notes written there. **** See you soon, --L **** Be good and I'll bring a present! --L **** Hope school's going well. --L **** Hugs. --L **** Got my promotion! I'll tell you about it when I come by! --L **** The book was abruptly yanked out of her hands. Embericles gave her a blankly mistrustful stare and set it back on the table, sliding it behind the TV set. "So, what are you doing here?" she asked, her bored tone only slightly tinged with any feeling. "I just thought I'd come by and visit you." "That isn't an answer. You have some purpose in mind." "I just... I just want to get to know you, that's all..." Nyssaias looked at her feet. She hadn't realized she was twisting her toes back and forth. She made herself stop it, but didn't notice when she started doing it again a moment later. "Again, that's no answer." Embericles's tone was flint-hard. "You want something from me. What is it?" A heat rose in Nyssaias's face, and it wasn't embarrassment this time. "I just want to get to know you, like I said." The words came out more curtly, more snapped-off than she could remember speaking to anyone before. "Is that some sort of crime? I'd like to be your friend, darn it! And I'm trying really hard at it, but you aren't making it any easier for me!" Embericles folded her arms across her chest and cocked her head, expression never wavering. "And what makes you so keen on me?" she asked. "I know it ain't my charming personality, so what? You got a thing for sympathy-cases, or something? I already told you, I'm not your social-work project." "And like I already told _you_, I don't pity you, I admire you. Whatever else you are, you're one of the strongest people I've ever met -- the way you fend for yourself and don't let others get to you, I mean. And such a talented writer! What's not to admire?" "I think we could both list plenty of things to answer that question," the redhead answered quietly. "Well, maybe." Nyssaias stammered for a second, uncertain whether she was taking the right tack, but too far in to change course now. "But besides that, we have so much in common!" "Do we?" The room seemed to grow about five degrees chillier. "Sure we do. Aside from being good at writing, we both have wings. And we're both..." She paused for a heartbeat, deciding on the best phrasing. "...related to the Divine. Why, your mother even lives in my old hometown." "Does she, now?" Voice and eyes had both taken on a positively glacial feel. "Y-yes, she does. I, uh, kind of found out about her, you know, being a succubus and all. I mean, not that there's anything wrong with being one. They're part of the Divine Plan, and all, and fulfill a very useful function... My stepmother's a Wood Nymph, you know? She might even know your mum. Maybe they, uh, went to school together... or something... Aheh." The cold silence was beginning to get to Nyssaias. She had the feeling that she had just stepped into a pit of quicksand, but that it was too late to do anything but flail around and hope for the best. "And, er, I see that you have an interest in the City of Dreams, too. That's my hometown, like I said, and I could tell you all about it, or something, if you... want..." She sighed. "I'm making a complete hash of this, aren't I? A 'critical malfunction', Father would say." "Do you want to know what we have in common?" Embericles said quietly. "Really in common?" Nyssaias nodded. The redhead pointed at the floor. "We're standing on the same patch of ground." She waved a hand aimlessly about. "We're breathing the same air." Those baleful blue eyes locked on Nyssaias's own as a hint of restrained anger crept into Embericles's tone. "And besides that... nothing. You have _everything_, and I have _this_." Her gesture encompassed the whole squalid room. "We're _nothing_ alike! You get to be whatever you want to be, and I don't get to be _anything_, do you understand? We might as well be on different planets. Your life is all about getting what you want and being who you want, and mine is about getting nothing and being nothing, okay? I can't be what I should be, and I can't be anything else, either, so _nothing_ is what I get. And maybe you need friends to find whatever it is you're looking for in life, but I can find all the nothing I've got coming to me just fine by myself. We're opposites, like night and day, and you can't have both at the same time. So, take yourself--" Here, for some reason, Embericles's chin began to quiver and just a _hint_ of a wet shimmer shone in her eyes. "--and your _God-damned_ City of Dreams, and go back where you belong!" The silence that followed this seemed to grow ever more oppressive, and the light from the single window grew dim as though a cloud had passed over the Sun. The thin walls carried through the sound of the next-door neighbor -- an old woman, by the voice -- beginning to sob as she frantically counted off the Rosary. A baby screamed in the apartment with the too-loud telly, which someone shut off as they tried to shush the child. A pair of crows on the roof let out an abrupt screech and fled into the sky. Nyssaias felt the tears starting, but couldn't hold them back. "I'm sor-sorry for bothering you, then" she sniffled. "I just... I just wanted..." She had told herself she wouldn't just run out the door, but she ended up doing it anyway. (to be concluded) --BKWillis Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 7 - Part 8
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